The Choice - Part 1
by Alex Malcolm Writes
Summary: Legolas is captured in Harad. He will be tortured but not only physically - his mind and spirit will be tested in the ultimate way, pitting his heroism against every possible damage the enemy can inflict. Written as a present for a friend, Part 2 to come soon where it starts to get really good - please review/pm with feedback and thoughts good or bad, all welcome.


This is part one - It gets into the battle of wills, the physical torture and the fight for heroism to hold out against the assailing forces of darkness and pain into the next part, but I wanted to start with this as a taster to see if people like it/the style.

(it will get more M rated in part 2)

Alex

He awoke.

It was not slow, or lingering. His fitful dreams had been thrown back and forth between broken nightmares. But waking gave no respite.

Instantly the pain returned. Tied kneeling to the post, his arms and hands above his head. Only scraps of his cloths left, his skin open to the elements. At least for now it was the dull throbbing pain of course rope against his skin. The real pain was yet to begin this evening.

He had no idea how long it had been. Days. Weeks. Even months, since he had first been captured. He had no way of knowing. All he knew was awaking, always at this time. Always the evening, just as the red sun set over the accursed trees and windswept dunes of Harad. And the elf could see that he was still there, as always – the figure, tied to a post opposite his, silhouetted by the dying light of the sun.

He tired time and again not to. He fought, with all his will, against the urge. But his heart always won. Through his parched lips Legolas uttered the same word. A single name, full of empathy. Of pain.  
Of love.

"Karuna…"

And like an evil incantation, the Other was drawn to the sound.

"Once again you are awake, dear princeling…"

Amangalar the Cleaved. Servant of the enemy. Black Numenorean. The target, the failing. He was to have been dead by Legolas' hand. But now-

"Once again you awake. And once again I present you the choice".

He felt the evil thing before he saw him, as the enemy ran his fingertips along Legolas' bare shoulder. Amangalar, closest of Sauron's servants to his role as the deceiver. The Cleaved should have been disfigured, horrific like all the other denizens of Mordor. Yet his evil was shown in other ways.

"Once again I will ask the question, and if you do not give me the answers I seek…you will have to choose."

With this he stepped forward and turned to the elf with that same beguiling smile. However many times it happened, Legolas could never become used to Amangalar's looks.

He was stunning. He seemed t radiate charm, and strength, and power. His beauty struck at the heart. He was lithe and graceful as any of the Silvan race, dressed in soft, overlapping robes of ivory and russet. He wore nothing on his feet, leaving their immaculate tawny colour clashing with the girt of the earth he appeared to float above. His every motion was precise and measured, like the most elegant dancer Legolas had ever seen.

It was his face that truly shook any who saw him. He was achingly beautiful. Long black hair cascaded from his head and shone like a midnight spider's silk. It haloed his features; sharp cheekbones that melted into a proud jawline; a strong brow that had never know a line, adding to his ageless beauty; thin but fulsome lips in dark cherry red and a smile that understood and welcomed you with every word.

Only the eyes could not hide what he truly was.

At first they appeared piercing blue, like a clear sky. But as he lightly sank on his heels to look Legolas in the eyes they came into focus. The blue was shot through with storm cloud grey, the colours alternating in prominence like an ever changing sky. And in the centre, his true form. Shapeless, obsidian, black. The irises spoke of burnt tar and blackened corpses, of unquenched fires and pits that would never see daylight.

The black was depthless, soulless – cleaved. It was the dark of endless tortures for the mind, body and spirit. Worse, it was the rapturous laughter at inflicting such pain, of defiling and destroying all that was good and right in the world.

His supple hand reached out, lifting the elf's chin. Legolas recoiled at his touch, but the creature held him tightly, leaning in and forcing eye contact.

"Once again, dear princeling. I will lead you through, by rote." He said.  
"You are here to kill me. You were sent by your pathetic human lords, or perhaps even your snivelling father himself. It does not matter. All that matters is that you are here, you are mine to do with as I will, and you will never leave."

With this Amangalar rose to his full height, and paced slowly towards the human tied to the other stake.

"You have one power left to give. One piece of information with which to bargain."

Reaching Karuna, he ran a hand through the man's hair, softly, almost lovingly, as he spoke.

"I am not an unkind master, as you may yet find. I can persuaded to end your life quickly, and end his, too, rather than throw him to the slave masters. This is in your power, dear Legolas."

He continued stroking Karuna's hair, carefully, leaving no strand of the matted mess alone.

"Who came with you? This is your chance. Your only chance. Or…you can face the choice. Again."

This this his hand tightened into a fist, grabbing the man's hair in rough clumps, digging into the scalp, pull backwards and yanking his head violently into the stake. Karuna moaned, and gasped, woken again from his painful fugue.

Again his head was forced back, slammed into the stake. Again, and again, the creature's words now punctuated with painful sobs.

"You WILL tell me who was with you. From Gondor. Through Harondor. We know where you come from. We know where you acquired this guide. This traitor to his kin, this scum. You promised him a better life, you promised him safety, you promised him protection.  
Your promises mean _nothing_ "

With that Amangalar tore at the man's head, ripping out hair and bloodied scalp, slamming his head one last time into the pole. Karuna's had lolled down to his chest, knocked out with the force of the blow.

"No!" shouted Legolas, struggling hopelessly against his restraints.

"Ah yes. This I know as well. You keep your promises – so far as you are able – do you not, elf? And something more than that; you care for him deeply, do you not?"

Amangalar advanced again, now lighter on his feet than ever. Soon his real enjoyment would begin. He sank again to his haunches, inches from Legolas' face.

"And we come to it at last. Tell me, Elf. Tell me, Princeling. Tell me, Legolas of the 'Greenwood'. Who else came with you to Harad?"

Legolas looked into the black hollows of the fallen thing's eyes, steeling himself as he did so. Darkness flowed from them like poisoned ink. The sun was going down, and the abyss of Amangalar gaze seemed to fill his vision.

But he would not allow himself to falter now. His will would hold. It would. Not. Falter. Though he knew what it would mean, and that this sight would be the least it would have to endure.

Meeting the evil eyes he saw with his own goodness, he did not break.

"There was no other, filth"

Amangalar held his gaze for a few seconds more, then slowly closed his eyes. A smile, warm and light crept across his lips.

"Then you will face the choice."

The cursed Numenorean rose again, spreading his arms wide in anticipation of the moments to come.

"You know the choice. You have known for a long time now. And every time I see you make it, I know – soon you will change your mind. Soon you will fail, you will in tatters. Soon, you will stumble and fall."

Legolas knew the choice. As the sun set finally every night he made the choice. It was becoming harder and harder to make the right one.

The choice of who would receive that night's tortures.

Amangalar moved out of view behind the elf, and suddenly there was a rattling of metal on chord, of wood on iron, as tonight's exquisite pain was selected.

"So who will it be, dear Princeling? You have withstood the beatings, the lashings. Now we have…other implements to try. And your back is so ravaged as it is…"

Something landed in front of Legolas. Dark, evil looking spines and cruel hooks were imbedded in tongue-like leather, finishing in a pommel. The flensing-whip seemed to writhe of its own accord before his eyes.

"Will you take the punishment for the other man? Will you take his pain upon yourself? Where is your 'heroism', dear Legolas? Will it hold tonight? Do you care for him enough?"

Striding to between the two poles, Amangalar reached down and took the pommel in his hand.

"Make your choice – Him, or you."

Once again Legolas looked at the other man. The last rays of the sun streaked his hair with light. All that Karuna had done for him, all that he had promised in return. He could not fail him.

"I will take it" he said, hanging his head, read for the first blow of the night.

Amangalar grinned. Not the response he wanted – to break the body but not yet the spirit. But there was time – the night was long.

"As you wish, my lord" he said, raising the whip arm as the sun sank below the horizon.


End file.
